by Gil McNeil
“God knows.”
“Well, I’d have put in a bid, my darling. Just to see the look on your face would have been worth a hundred quid of anyone’s money.”
She pushes him, and he laughs.
“I could have put in a bid to stop you doing that for a start.”
“Hang on, look out, here she comes.”
Ellen has been attracting the usual amount of sideways looks and nudging, and a few people have told her how much they love her new series. But Annabel hasn’t formally greeted us yet, although I knew it was only a matter of time.
“Good afternoon, I’m Annabel Morgan, President of the PTA; I just wanted to welcome you to our little school. I do wish I’d known you were available this afternoon”—she pauses, to give me a furious look—“I would have asked you to perform our opening ceremony. We’re all enjoying your new series, so super.”
Ellen gives her one of her Britain’s Favorite Broadcaster smiles.
“People do seem to like it. Nice to have met you, Mirabelle. Come on, Jo, you promised to show me that banner you knitted with the kids.”
It’s times like these when I remember why I love Ellen so much.
“So that’ll be Mirabelle giving me the evil eye again on Monday.”
Ellen laughs. “Just tell her to bugger off. Women like her are terrible bullies, but they always back right off if you stand up to them. It’s the ones like Connie or Tina, or that other one?”
“Linda?”
“Yes, they’re the ones you have to watch out for. They stand their ground, if it’s something they believe in, and nothing gets past them if they’ve made their minds up.”
“That’s true.”
“I know, darling, I’m a very clever woman.”
Harry snorts, and she pushes him, again.
“Shame I didn’t get that bid in while I had the chance.”
We find Connie, and Ellen cuddles Maximo, who’s attracting a fair amount of attention too, so there’s a slight lull in the hubbub as people watch Ellen and the Baby. Someone even takes a photo, which I think is a bit much until I realize it’s Tina.
“That’s a lovely one. I’ll get you a copy, Connie, and Jo. Shall I do an extra one for you too, Ellen?”
“Please darling.”
“I love your series by the way, I just wanted to say that. I record it so I can watch it when I get in from the salon, and your hair always looks so lovely. Can I ask you a question, do you mind?”
“Sure.”
“Is that Steve Sumner as gorgeous as he looks?”
“More.”
Tina’s thrilled. “I knew it, I’ve always liked him, ever since I was a teenager. I’ve got all his records, but some of them go all seedy, don’t they? All leather trousers and girls half their age, but he seems to get better and better.”
Ellen smiles. “Definitely, darling, and he smells divine too, sort of lemony and cedar, expensive but not over the top. When he kisses you, it’s very hard not to swoon.”
Harry puts his arm around her. “Hello? When did he kiss you then?”
Tina laughs. “Well, if you need a—what do they call them?—a stunt double, for any of the kissing, make sure you let me know. Isn’t the baby getting big, Connie? He’s grown loads since you brought him into the salon, you must be feeding him nonstop. He’s a happy little thing, isn’t he? Look at him smiling.”
Connie nods and mutters something in Italian. “He is happy today, but the afternoons he is usually grumpy.”
A seething throng of parents and mixed infants is clearly diverting his attention.
“Never mind, love, they don’t stay tiny for long.”
“No, and if we can do this every day please, my afternoons will be much better.”
“What, two hundred people with music and balloons?”
She smiles. “Perfect.”
I’m sitting in the kitchen with Ellen, with all the kids finally asleep, even Eddie, who slept so much this afternoon he’s been wide awake this evening. It’s half past eleven, and we’re opening our second bottle of wine.
“Shouldn’t they be back by now? They went off bloody hours ago.”
“I’m sure they’re fine, Ellen.”
“Maybe we should go down to the harbor, wear our shawls, do the whole fishwife thing?”
“They’ll be back soon. And anyway, we can’t leave the kids.”
We’ve nearly finished the bottle when I hear the front gate open.
“Talk of the devil.”
Harry comes into the kitchen and kisses Ellen. “Sorry we’re late, the engine stalled.”
Martin and Jeffrey are both looking rather sheepish.
“Who wants a drink? We’ve drunk most of the wine, but there’s tea.”
Martin grins. “Have you got any brandy?”
“No. There’s vodka.”
Jeffrey sits down. “Tea for me, please. Your mother’s going to be bad enough as it is without me going home smelling of drink.”
Martin nods as I put the kettle on.
“Sorry it took us so long, Jo, only the engine stalled, and I didn’t want us to call the coast guard, so we used Harry’s special intercontinental phone and got a tow back. I’ll have to get one of those phones, Harry. Mine doesn’t get a signal in the harbor, let alone out to sea.”
“So who towed you back in then?”
“Ted Mallow, when we finally got hold of him. It took a while because he doesn’t answer his phone; you have to leave a message and then he calls you back. I don’t know why he screens all his calls.”
Jeffrey smiles. “Sending a Valentine to Betty would be a good enough reason for me. He’s probably regretting it and is trying to go into hiding.”
Harry laughs. “We should have brought your dog, Martin; we could have chucked him in, got him to swim back to shore. How far out were we?”
“About four miles.”
“Maybe not then.”
“I think water got into the engine.”
Ellen laughs. “Isn’t that something they’re meant to cope with then, engines on boats, a bit of water? Doesn’t that sort of go with the territory?”
“Technically, yes. I’ll need to strip it down again, see whether the casing has got cracked.”
Harry nods. “Either that or train that dog up for endurance swimming.”
By the time Martin and Jeffrey leave, it’s ten past one, and we’ve had to almost physically restrain Ellen from dealing out the cards for a round of strip poker. Jeffrey’s still chuckling as he gets into Martin’s car, although I think Elsie might take care of any vestiges of amusement as soon as he gets home.
I’m lying in bed trying to get to sleep, and failing. It’s all very well them coming home like it’s been a great lark, but being adrift in the dark isn’t ideal, especially not so close to bloody Dover and the busiest shipping lanes in Europe. I’m trying to make a list in my head of all the things I’ve got to do next week, which is my version of counting sheep, but it’s not working, so I may as well go downstairs and make some tea and write a proper list. Then maybe I can get past my visions of having to identify Martin by his anorak and get some bloody sleep.
“Mum.”
“Yes Jack?”
“I had my dream again, the one where I’m in a boat and it’s sinking and I can’t find you.”
“All right, snuggle in, but be quiet. Pearl’s in the travel cot, and if you wake her up you can go back to your bed and take her with you.”
He giggles, quietly.
“Night Mum.”
“Night love.”
Great. Bang goes my cup of tea. Bloody boats.
I’m in the shop on Monday morning, and it’s already hot; the weather’s definitely turned into proper summer now, all clear blue skies and gentle sea breezes. I’m putting the knitted Teddy Bears’ Picnic on one of the shelves in the window, complete with the little picnic hamper which Betty made for me. She loves knitting miniature accoutrements for the windows; she’s even knitt
ed a tiny white tablecloth for the picnic. I’ve put another cotton beach bag in pretty pastel stripes on the shelf above, with one of our flag kits, and I’ve already arranged the rocks at the side of the window, and put in the bathing scene with the jolly Beryl Cook ladies and the little bathing huts. And I’ve knitted a small orange seahorse, which I’ve attached to the blue net in the window. I’ve always been rather fond of seahorses, they look so jolly, and they’re the only animals on earth where the males have the babies, and that definitely deserves a place of honor in the window in my opinion.
I want to freshen up the window before the official judging for the Best Seaside Town (Small) later on; the judges came down for their unofficial tour a couple of weeks ago. Lady Denby’s got us all on full alert, and poor Mrs. Cox backed her Volvo into Mr. Dawes’s new van yesterday, trying to get two tubs of emergency petunias down to the pier. So it’s all been rather fraught.
Cinzia’s on the phone, haranguing the Italian silk supplier again, while Pearl “helps” me before they go off for a walk. Great. Now Lady Denby has turned up, with those daft dogs. I think we better go outside, before she tries to bring them in with her again.
Pearl toddles over and starts patting the dogs.
Lady Denby fixes her with a Look. “Is she one of yours?”
“Yes, Lady Denby.”
I’m feeling like a scullery maid again. I’ll be bobbing a quick curtsy if I’m not careful.
“Used to be the same at her age, spent half my life in the kennels. Nice-looking child.”
I smile.
“Well, can’t stop chatting. All ready for the off?”
“Yes, we’ve reserved the table in the window.”
“Excellent. Give them some of your cakes, that should do the trick.”
She gently disentangles Pearl from Clarkson, and they end up holding hands, whereupon Pearl launches into her new party piece, which is a little dance loosely based on the “Oh, We Do Like to Be Beside the Seaside” routine that she learnt at her music group. She particularly likes the bit where the brass bands play tiddly-oom-pom-pom.
Lady Denby is delighted. “Charming. You must come round to tea, my dear.”
Pearl smiles, completely oblivious to the high honor of being invited to Lady Denby’s house, and launches into “Beside the Seaside” one more time. Lady Denby looks like she’s accidentally pressed Play on a tape recorder and can’t work out how to switch it off.
“Just ignore her, Lady Denby. She loves dancing, she’ll go on for ages.”
She nods. “Right you are my dear. Charming, quite charming. I’ll be back later with the judges. Best foot forward and all that. Excellent.”
Cinzia takes Pearl off for a wander, still singing, and I’m trying to concentrate on the till receipts for Sunday when Mrs. Peterson comes in.
“Hello, I’ve been meaning to thank you, after the school fayre, for making such a generous bid for the flag kit. I’d have been really embarrassed if nobody had wanted it.”
“Not at all. I need more projects, for the evenings, I find it really helps when Amy’s asleep. Look, I finished the cardigan.”
She holds it up to show me, looking very proud. As well she might, she’s done a great job on it.
“That’s lovely. If you’re looking for more projects, we can always use extra knitters for the shop you know, if they can knit as well as you can.”
“Seriously? What a lovely thing to say, I’m very flattered. I want to make some dolls’ clothes for Amy. My mum used to make them for me and I always loved them. I want to make a bedspread for her too, like the ones you’ve got in the shop, but I want to keep it a surprise, for her birthday.”
“That’s no problem; you can keep it here, in our stockroom, just work on a square at a time and bring them in here if you like?”
“Really, that would be so helpful. It’s been such a long time since I’ve done anything creative. It’s the colors, I think; they make me feel, well, hopeful. I’m so glad I started again. I didn’t realize how much I missed it.”
“It’s relaxing, isn’t it, once you get back into the habit?”
“Yes, I find it very calming.”
So do I, or I would do if I could get more time to knit sea-horses and less time looking at bloody till rolls.
“And have you got any of the chunky tweed? I’ve signed up for a knitting magazine now, and there’s a lovely pattern for autumn, for a little jacket.”
“Sure, it’s upstairs. Elsie’s up there, she’ll show you.”
She goes up, looking so much happier than when I first saw her. Not that anything’s really changed, of course, but somehow she seems lighter, like it’s not such a huge struggle to get through the day, which is great. I hope the knitting has helped, a bit. Sometimes I really love working here.
I’m having a coffee break with Tom, who’s filling me in on the latest with Cinzia.
“She’s driving me crazy, to be honest. One minute she’s up for it, the next she goes all distant.”
“A bit like you did?”
“Well yes, sort of, but that was a plan to get her interested. With her it’s real. And there’s this other girl. She comes to our gigs, she’s always giving me the eye, but I’m not sure I want to try and cope with two of them; it can get really complicated if you start all that.”
“I’m sure.”
He grins. “Does she ever say anything to you?”
“No, and I wouldn’t tell you if she did, Tom.”
“When she’s in the right mood, she’s adorable, you know.”
“I know.”
He’s looking lovesick again.
“Still, no point fretting, that’s what my mum says. If she can’t make her mind up, then I don’t have to either. Looks like you’ve got a couple of customers.”
I walk toward the counter as a man turns and smiles.
“We’re from the Bay, the new bed-and-breakfast?”
“Oh, right. It looks so great every time I drive past, I keep meaning to come in and have a proper look. I love the color.”
They’ve painted it a beautiful gray.
“Well aren’t you nice? Come in any time. We love people who say nice things. So the thing is, we were wondering, one of our friends from London was asking, and we thought if we did a package, a knitting weekend, we could do group bookings? You could do a class for them, maybe one on Saturday afternoon, and one on Sunday. Would that work?”
“We’re pretty busy at the minute, but yes, we could look at doing something like that, I’m sure we could. When were you thinking?”
“The autumn, when the summer season starts to die down a bit. We’re fully booked for most weekends until then. But I should warn you, our friends are pretty high-maintenance types, but you’re probably used to that, what with your famous clientele. We adore our Gracie, such marvelous skin. Gus, isn’t that tea cozy perfect? We’ve got to have it, and the blue one, so on trend. And you do a Stitch and Bitch group, don’t you? Our lovely Tina was telling me. I popped in for a quick trim the other day, what a nice woman. Stitch and Bitch, sounds perfect, bitching is one of my favorite things.”
Gus shakes his head. “You’ll have to excuse Duggie; he gets a bit carried away when he’s had a new idea. But we do think autumn mini-breaks would be popular. I’ll run through some figures with you if you like, make sure we all earn a few pennies. Are there things you can make in a weekend? Only I think they’d need a project they could finish, and all these lovely things look like they’d take weeks.”
“I’ve been thinking about doing something similar actually, and there are quite a few things that you could knit—a tea cozy, or a pair of egg cozies, or a lavender bag—small things, so people have something to take home.”
“I knew you’d get it. I can tell from your windows you’re a girl after our own heart. Get the credit cards out, Gus, I need some of these gorgeous things. They’ll look perfect on our breakfast trays.”
“We can knit you some with ‘The Bay’
on if you like.”
He shrieks, a proper squealy shriek, which makes us all laugh, and even Gus admits that this is a fabulous idea and they’ll think about colors, but in the meantime they’ll take one of the blankets in gray tweed, and a matching cushion, and a couple of the tea cozies, and six egg cozies. I give them a discount, which goes down very well with Gus.
How lovely. Elsie’s going to be pleased, since she knitted the last batch of egg cozies. Actually, if I ask her to be in charge of one of the classes, she’ll be even more pleased, and Laura can do the other one so I only need to be around for extra-high-maintenance helping. Perfect.
I’m on the phone trying to explain to an annoying rep why I don’t want to order vast amounts of their nasty nylon economy range, however tempting the price might be, when Lady Denby sweeps in, with two men and a grumpy-looking woman. Elsie is already lurking by the door and ushers them to their table by the window. We’ve put vases of summer roses on all the tables, and Tom’s already got an arrangement of cakes ready on one of our china cake stands.
Lord Denby has clearly been fully briefed. He wanders in shortly after they arrive and sits down at their table.
“Chap makes all his own biscuits, you know, and cakes and things. Had a crack at custard creams a while back, made a jolly good job of it too. Can’t beat a custard cream in my opinion. One of the worst things about the War if you ask me, couldn’t get them for love or money. Well, money, sometimes, if you knew the right chap. And as for cake, have you ever tasted cake made with powdered egg and carrots? Absolutely ghastly.”
He pauses to smile at the judges. “Come here quite often, decent cup of tea, not that easy to find nowadays you know, great boon. Excellent. Thank you, Moira.”
The judges look confused, having just been introduced to Elsie.
Lord Denby looks over the top of his glasses. “I call all the girls Moira; find it saves a great deal of time. Apart from Pru of course. That wouldn’t go down too well, would it, my dear?”
Lady Denby raises her eyebrows and sighs, which the judges seem to enjoy.
